The way he paints the sun and the trees

He paints the sun in black bold colors
Flaming in black smoke and the trees
Are tiny and thin all in black like
Charred sticks from a huge fire
He did not place people in the landscape
The black rays are like the hands of octopuses
Crawling and perhaps eating the landscape
I look at his eyes, they are all red
Blood spurting out from his capillaries
With this huge fire of anger
Burning the painting the canvass ashed.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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